by Jane Adams
Even as he thought that, he dismissed it. No. There were few places she could have gone to. The report said that her friends were playing at the entrance to the Greenway, so any abduction by car would have taken them first, not Sara Jane. She was too far from the sea for there to have been danger of drowning or of a fall from the cliff. To have accomplished that, the child would have had to have gone back through the village, not further inland up the pathway. He shook his head. There were too many damned similarities.
Tynan got up, headed for the hall and the phone. Retired he might be, but certainly not senile, even if he did race kettles for exercise these days. Feeling more alive than he had done in months, and knowing with a pang of guilt that it was the disappearance, perhaps worse, of a little girl that had made him feel this way, Tynan picked up the phone and began to dial.
Chapter 5
Mike Croft pushed himself back to standing and shrugged his shoulders to ease the tension. His poking around at ground level had told him little he did not already know; grass bruised by children’s feet skidding across its surface, sand and shells from an overturned plastic bucket shaped like a miniature castle, and the ball they had played with left abandoned on the grass when they had first noted that Sara Jane was missing.
The children, six of them, the youngest eight, the eldest almost fifteen. He’d talked to them all this morning, a small frightened cluster, red-eyed and overawed, gathered with their parents in the village hall. He’d let them tell their story as a group, and pieced the afternoon together. Had drawn out, little by little the trivia of beach games, their walk back through the village and the game they had played at the entrance to the Greenway, kicking the ball backwards and forwards across the narrow road.
He glanced around him, standing with his back to the Greenway, facing the road. That had been around four p.m. They could be fairly certain of the time as three of the six had worn watches; all had to be home at around five.
The short walk back into the village would have taken no more than five minutes, allow ten for the youngest two who lived the far end to be escorted to their door. Jenny Wilding, the eldest child, had said that it had been about four-forty when she had begun to warn them they’d soon have to head back. It was then that they realized Sara Jane was no longer with them.
Mike thought back to the earlier interview. He really felt for the girl. Jenny apparently had a reputation for reliability. She was taking Sara’s disappearance personally.
‘I did watch them,’ she had insisted. ‘Three of the younger ones, Sara, Beth and Jo, they’d got tired and didn’t want to play so they sat down to look at Bethie’s shells.’ He remembered how she’d glanced around her then, looking for support from the others. Tony, the second eldest, had spoken up for her.
‘You can’t blame Jenny.’ The declaration belligerent. ‘We did watch them and they seemed OK. You know, messing around in the gap and then later running in and out of the Greenway.’
‘We asked them if they wanted to join in the game,’ Jenny continued. ‘You know, they’d perked up a bit by then.’ She paused, close to tears. ‘They said they were playing their own game and I heard Bethie counting like they were playing hide and seek. I remember thinking it was a daft game to play just there.’ Again, she glanced around, looking for confirmation. ‘I mean, where’s there to hide?’ Her voice trailed off and she fumbled in her pocket for an already well-used tissue.
‘That’s what we thought she was doing.’ Tony picked up for Jenny. ‘When she didn’t come back, I mean. We thought she was just hiding.’ He too gave up. He was of an age to not even consider the possibility of tears, but his shoulders slumped and it was evident to Mike that both Jenny and the boy had spent the night thinking of all the things they could have done to keep a closer eye on Sara Jane.
‘And when you couldn’t find her and she didn’t come back?’ He knew the answer from last night’s interviews, but still . . .
‘We got scared.’ It was Beth who replied this time. ‘Jenny said Sara might be hurt or something and we should get help. We was late then too. I thought my mum would be mad.’
‘So you went back to the village?’
Beth nodded. ‘Tom and Joe stayed behind just in case she really was hiding and thought we’d all gone and left her.’
‘And who thought of that?’ Mike asked gently.
‘Jenny did.’
Mike smiled at the child, gave Jenny an approving nod. ‘Well, I think that was very sensible of her, don’t you?’
He’d let them go then. Parents had stayed to speak to him, bewildered, angry. He had felt the entire pressure of this close-knit community bearing down on him. One of theirs was missing. Just what was he going to do about it?
He sighed.
If it hadn’t been for Jenny, insisting that the two boys remain behind, he would have assumed abduction. That the little girl had been hiding, hoping to scare her friends maybe and let the joke go too far, been snatched as she came back onto the main road. That in itself would have been coincidence piled on coincidence, but it would have made a kind of sense, given him somewhere to start. As it was . . .
‘Sir?’
Sergeant Enfield’s voice cut through his thoughts. He turned towards him. ‘Yes, Bill?’
The other man relaxed, smiled slightly. ‘We’ve had a phone call.’
‘I imagine we’ve had a lot of those.’
Bill Enfield allowed himself the luxury of a full smile this time. ‘More than a few,’ he acknowledged, ‘but this one might be useful.’
‘Oh.’
‘You ever get to meet DI Tynan? Held your job before Flint.’
Mike shook his head. ‘No, we never got to meet. Why?’
‘Well, that’s who the call was from. Offers his services he does, should you want them.’
Mike cast the older man a puzzled look. By tacit consent they had begun to walk back to the village and the incident room set up in the village hall.
‘I get the feeling you think I should accept,’ he said.
‘Could do worse.’
There was a pause. Mike had held his post here for a few months only. Long enough though to get to know the regional officers like Bill Enfield. Long enough to know that Bill was best telling things his own way. He waited as the older man prepared himself ‘Tynan investigated a similar case. A child, gone missing, playing on the Greenway. Name of—’
‘Ashmore. Suzanne Ashmore. Sorry, Bill, the jungle drums got in ahead of you.’
‘We don’t have no jungle drums here, boy, we beat our own rhythm out on the boat keels.’ He smiled quickly at Mike. There had been liking between them right from when Mike had first joined Divisional. Not like his predecessor. Flint was a by-the-book man. This one had respect for local knowledge, local people, men like himself, doing the same job year in year out.
‘But since you know so much you’ll know that Suzie Ashmore was never found.’ He paused before continuing. ‘First big case Tynan ever handled that was and it rankled with him all through that he couldn’t solve it.’ He paused again, looked sideways at Mike. ‘I told them at control to pass on he’d be welcome. Sir.’ This last a gentle reminder that they’d reached the first houses.’
‘All right, Sergeant. If ex-DI Tynan feels he has something to say then I’ll listen. But dammit, Enfield, that was what, fifteen years ago?’
‘More like twenty, sir.’
‘Coincidence, has to be.’ He shrugged, suddenly angry. What else could it be? He felt too a moment of irritation towards Enfield. Bill Enfield thought he needed a hand-holder, did he? He squashed the thought almost as it arrived. If Bill Enfield had a moment of doubt on that score, Mike would know it by now. Lower rank he might be, but round here it was experience, local knowledge that counted. Flint, Mike’s predecessor had fallen flat on his face by ignoring that, had practically sunk without trace in the cow shit.
He sighed, grimaced slightly and spoke. ‘We’d better talk to the parents again.’
* * *
Cassie had taken the news better than Anna had hoped. She read the report carefully, face pale and drawn, but seemed calm, concerned only for the child.
‘I should tell them I was there,’ she said.
‘When?’ Anna questioned.
‘Last night, well, evening really. Six, six-thirty, you remember, I went for a walk just before we drove out to Norwich.’
‘You went there, to the Greenway, on your own? Did you see them, the children I mean? No. I guess they would have gone by then.’ She frowned. The woman in the shop, she said they were searching. Didn’t you see anyone?’
Cassie shook her head thoughtfully. ‘There was no one on the Greenway, not then. But if they were searching for her they’d surely have moved further out by then. There’s not that much of the Greenway to search.’
Fergus, standing behind her, placed hands gently on Cassie’s shoulders.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we should let someone know. You might have seen something, without knowing it, I mean.’ He broke off, hands moving gently to massage his wife’s shoulders. He could feel the tension in them, feel her shaking. He cursed silently. Why this? Why now? It ruined everything. Then he felt overwhelmed by guilt as he thought of the child, wherever she was. Dead maybe, or alive and frightened. Of her parents. His hands tightened on Cassie as the questions in his head repeated themselves, just to spite him. Why this? Why now?
‘They’ve set up an incident room,’ Simon said. ‘We talked to the Thorsons at the shop, found out what we could. Said if they needed extra help with anything . . .’
Fergus nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. This tragedy was theirs as well, he thought. For good or ill they were involved.
Suddenly, he felt completely overwhelmed. The peace, the optimism of only an hour or so ago evaporating like sea mist, the resentment he felt as unbearable as it was unfair. He swallowed nervously, feeling very selfish, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, felt Cassie’s shoulders begin to shake more violently as if his own grief communicated to her through his touch.
‘Cassie. Love.’
She seemed to collapse forward out of his partial embrace, head dropping, burying her face in her arms resting on the tabletop.
‘Cassie!’
Fergus reached out for her again, only to be distracted by a sharp rap on the outer door. Reluctantly, Anna went to open it. She returned a few moments later, a young constable in tow.
‘It’s the police,’ she said irrelevantly. ‘They’re doing house-to-house, want to ask some questions.’
The officer glanced at her, then allowed his gaze to travel over the others in the room, finally resting on Cassie, her head raised now, trying to regain some measure of control.
‘Are you all right, Miss?’ he asked.
* * *
Mike allowed the local man to precede him into the Cassidys’ sitting room, detaining the WPC in the hallway. The young woman looked pale and tired, well into overtime now and feeling the strain. He didn’t envy her. Close, undiluted proximity to grief was worse, far worse than a night of activity. Hard work could be remedied by a hot bath and a night’s sleep. The kind of watching, supporting role she had been playing only sapped the mind.
‘How are they coping?’ It was, he knew, a silly question.
She gave him a wry, somewhat crooked smile. ‘Stopped raging and started crying at around two, sir. Doctor came and gave Janice, Mrs Cassidy, a sedative, so she’s had a bit of sleep. Mr’s spent the night pacing. Keeps going to the garden gate, watching for her.’ She sighed. ‘Any more news, sir?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing yet. We’ll see what house-to-house turns up, take it from there.’ He gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I’ll get someone in to relieve you, soon as we can.’
From the sitting room he could hear Bill Enfield’s voice, low and calm as ever, the modulated burr of it designed to sooth. Too much to hope it would work now. He could hear Mrs Cassidy, voice high and plaintive, words broken and her husband, angry, bewildered. He turned to enter the room. ‘Go down and get yourself fed,’ he told the WPC. She smiled, thanked him and disappeared with almost inhuman haste.
Sighing, Mike entered the room.
Janice Cassidy was seated on a small blue sofa, husband beside her. She was, he guessed in her early thirties, but right now she could have been anything up to fifty. Short blonde hair that should have stood in slightly spiky waves, sagged above a pleasantly high forehead softened by a sparse fringe. Wet blue eyes, red-rimmed. It was easy to see where Sara Jane had got her prettiness. Her slight tendency towards plumpness too. The father was dark, tall, heavily built. His dark eyes as red-rimmed as his wife’s.
‘Well?’ Cassidy demanded.
Mike waited before answering, sat down opposite them and leaned forward slightly as he began to talk. ‘Right now, I don’t have any answers, Mr Cassidy. But . . . please, Mr Cassidy, if you’ll let me finish.’ He deliberately allowed his voice to rise a little, to allow a note of hardness to creep in. All night these people had endured sympathy, soft reassurances. Now, he suspected, that was the last thing they needed. They wanted action, someone who at least gave the appearance of being in control.
Cassidy had fallen silent, surprised at the change in tone. He glared, seemed about to start again so Mike spoke quickly.
‘Right now, I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know. We need answers just as much as you do. We’re drafting in every extra officer the force can supply. The incident room’s set up and we’re conducting house-to-house, we’ll know more when those interviews are complete.’ He hoped.
Cassidy had begun to protest again. ‘We should be out looking. Not sitting here on our bums doing fuck all.’
‘Please, Jim.’ His wife laid her hand on his arm.
‘We should be though. She could be hurt, could be anywhere.’
Mrs Cassidy bit her lip hard as tears threatened again, her husband circling an arm around her shoulders.
‘Should be out looking for her,’ he repeated, but some of the fight had gone now.
Mike relaxed a little, knowing that he was getting through. ‘If you feel up to it you can join the search later.’ He felt Bill Enfield’s eyes on him, disapproving, but continued anyway. ‘We’ll be asking for volunteers, anyone who can spare an hour or so.’
Cassidy nodded. For the first time there was a slight relaxation of the muscles at the corners of his mouth.
‘We’ll need you to help liaise between the different groups.’ He felt Bill ease off on him. Liaison, well that was different from actually putting the parents in the front line where they might find . . . well, he’d rather not think that far.
‘We’ll need you with us, need to know everything we can about where Sara likes to play, her hiding places, the kind of games she likes, anything that might give us a clue. We know that she ran into the Greenway, we don’t know where she might have gone to after that.’ He paused, hesitated for a moment, then said, ‘Tell me about her, what’s she like? A loner or someone who wants to be in a group?’ He paused again, then smiled encouragingly. The Cassidys exchanged a quick look, not knowing where to begin, but, it seemed, glad to be at least involved in something. Mrs Cassidy tried to speak, then closed her mouth again, suddenly, as though clamping down on threatened tears. Mike could feel the whole scenario threatening to collapse and prepared another tack. It was Bill Enfield who rescued him, getting to his feet and smiling at Janice Cassidy. ‘Maybe I could help you make some tea, my dear,’ he suggested, opening the living-room door and waiting for her to move. She rose gratefully, finding refuge in the ordinary, the practical, in Bill Enfield’s quiet authority.
Mike waited until they had gone, glancing around the room before speaking. Cassidy got in first, asking the question uppermost in his mind.
‘You think she’s dead?’ He asked it brusquely, with artificial calm. He might have been asking for a judgement on the day’s weather.
For a moment, Mike weighed plati
tudes. Then shook his head. ‘I don’t want to think that, Mr Cassidy. None of us do.’
Cassidy stared at him as though hoping for more. Then he sighed, leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes.
‘Jim,’ he said, ‘might as well call me Jim.’ He shook himself as though it would help to clear his head. Mike, sensing he wanted time to get his thoughts in order, glanced around the room again.
‘You’re a farm worker.’
‘Yes, foreman up at Top Farm.’
Mike nodded. The room was comfortable. Two matching sofas, blue moquette. They looked new. Then the chair he was sitting in. Old, scuffed and faded-green leather with a peculiar studded pattern on the face of both arms.
The curtains had a newish look to them, bought maybe to go with the sofas. The carpet, older, had begun to fade.
There were photos and cheap prints everywhere. The photos, many of them featuring Sara Jane, had the look of family snapshots, taken by a competent amateur. The prints the kind that Mike’s wife had been fond of. The kind of thing that could be seen everywhere.
Sara Jane was an only child.
Why did that make it worse?
Cassidy was speaking again. Voice low, controlled.
‘The boss called earlier, said you was to have any men you needed. Nothing much’ll get done today I reckon.’ He stopped again, looking Mike in the eyes.
‘Round here, we don’t expect these things to happen. Not here.’ He leaned forward. Mike could already guess what he was about to hear, knew the man had to say it and got his official protest at the ready.
‘You hear me, Mr Detective Inspector Croft, you just listen. You’d better find her and you’d better find the bastard that took her away. For his sake, Mr Detective Inspector, you’d better pray for his sake that you get to him first.’
Chapter 6
Anna gave the constable one of her best ‘I’m not feeling intimidated by a mere policeman’ smiles and offered him tea. He declined, politely, a little queasily too, Anna thought. No doubt the same offer had been made more than once this morning.
